


i see your star (you left it burning for me)

by isyotm



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 22:39:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9093910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isyotm/pseuds/isyotm
Summary: Sometimes, Varric reminds her of the things she's lacking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Mother, I'm Home" by Darren Korb (from the _Bastion_ soundtrack).

_The Hanged Man_ is always loud, always bustling, and always absolutely _filthy_. She’s never had much cause to frequent the place herself, but she’s heard the stories and she knows its reputation.

Still, this is apparently the best place to find her quarry. If he’s not here now, Leliana’s sources say he will be eventually. And if there’s one thing she knows, it’s that Leliana’s sources are never wrong.

She swings the door open and it bangs against the wall with a hard _thump_ , drawing the attention of some of the less drunk patrons. One or two turn pale at the sight of her armor, black with the blazing white sun-and-eye of the Seekers of Truth in the middle. Good. If they’re afraid, perhaps they’ll be more likely to give her a straight answer.

A low counter is in the corner of the room. Behind it, a man alternates between taking orders, planting more drinks on the tables, and yelling at the barmaid on the other side of the room.

“I’m looking for Varric Tethras,” she states.

“Never heard of him,” the barkeep responds absently.

To be expected. Leliana’s sources warned her of this too.

Cassandra grabs him by the collar of his worn shirt and drags him until most of his weight is on the bar. “I’m looking for Varric Tethras,” she repeats.

“I-I’ve never heard of him! I swear it!” At least now she has his attention.

“I am told he lives here.”

“I—I—”

She watches as he takes in her armor, the emblem on her chest (he can’t possibly recognize it, but he certainly recognizes its significance), the sword at her hip, and the expression on her face.

“You’re not from the Merchants Guild, are you?” he asks in a resigned tone.

“No.” She acknowledges that perhaps it would’ve been better to clarify this first, but that would’ve taken too long. She’s here for Varric Tethras, author of _Tale of the Champion_. Explanations can come later.

The barkeep sighs and points to the back of the tavern. “He’s upstairs.”

She lets him go and marches up the stairs, scanning constantly for any sign of danger or a dwarf attempting to flee. She’s garnered some more attention now and she sees someone edging out of their seat, but she pins them into place with a look. It’s taken her this long to track down the dwarf; she won’t have him slipping out from under her nose.

The room she finds him in is small, most of the space taken up by a wooden table and a set of chairs. He’s seated at the head of the table, flipping through documents and occasionally taking a sip from a tankard next to him. Water, she notes. An interesting choice for a man who lives in a tavern.

“Varric Tethras?”

“Who’s asking?” the dwarf says without looking up.

Cassandra gestures to her companions. They nod and move forward, one on either side of the table, preventing any chance of escape. He looks up in alarm at her and the other two Seekers and mutters, “Shit.”

“I have questions about the Champion, and your book.

“Tell me.”

 

* * *

 

It’s been one year.

She’s never thought much about the passage of time. It flows away from her like a river, filled with regrets, mistakes, and triumphs in equal measure.

But this year…

This year. This year she’s lost so much in so short a time. She’s no stranger to loss, but it feels as though the very earth has been ripped out from underneath her. The loss of the Divine, the betrayal of first the Templars and then the Seekers, the Breach and Corypheus—she wishes there was a way she could rest, breathe, heal.

But the world is looking to them to solve things. Leliana, Josephine, Cullen, and the Inquisitor have all lost people important to them, they’ve all struggled. She can’t falter now just because she’s tired.

“I hear reconstruction is progressing in Kirkwall,” she tells Varric one day while they’re out on a mission. She’s not sure what makes her say it. Maybe it’s because she’s not as afraid of appearing weak in front of him.

His reaction surprises her. “I know things are bad there.”

“I wasn’t trying to…”

“You weren’t trying to remind me how bad it is in Kirkwall? So you decided to talk about it?”

“About its recovery!” Why does this happen? She means to say one thing and it comes across as something else entirely.

“What you’re talking about are the buildings, and even then that will take years. _People_ don’t recover so easily.”

_I know._

Their conversation for the rest of the mission is stilted. He’s not giving her the silent treatment, but he’s upset and she’s to blame.

_What did I do wrong?_

_Tell me._

 

* * *

 

The empty pages are sitting on her desk, mocking her. She scratches her head, rubs her eyes, hoping that maybe that will shake the words loose. She sighs and turns away from her desk and catches sight of the books stacked neatly on the floor, half-hidden behind a chair.

How does he do it? How does he make even the most boring things sound so fascinating? Not once while reading the _Tale_ did her attention ever wane; the only thing that stopped her from devouring all of it in one sitting was the fact that she had other responsibilities to attend to. No matter what, everything in every story was believable, every word crafted so that it feels like it was actually happening, like maybe if she was just at the right place at the right time she could’ve watch it all unfold right in front of her eyes.

She gets up from her desk, leaving behind the unwritten reports, and grabs her sword. Perhaps a few exercises will help her think of what to say.

She spends hours hacking away at the training dummies, but when she returns in the evening, her descriptions are no less “stale,” as Varric would call it, than they would’ve been if she’d written the report when she was supposed to.

_How do I make it sound the way you do?_

_Tell me._

 

* * *

 

There is a new dwarf at Skyhold.

Cassandra sees her standing in the main hall, talking with Varric and the Inquisitor, worried looks on all of their faces. She returns to her room and begins packing; she senses they’ll be headed out on another mission soon.

Their conversation, scarce as it is, is tight and tense, but Cassandra realizes she knows Varric well enough to understand he’s worried. For them? No. His eyes never stray from the hooded stranger, all his attention focused on her.

Upon later thought, she’s surprised to discover she’s jealous. No, she shakes her head, not jealous—envious. She’s envious of the attention that Varric pays to Bianca, the way he’s so willing to protect her. The way he looks at her.

She doesn’t need protecting, but to have someone show such concern for her, far beyond duty or brothers- and sisters-in-arms, would not be unwelcome.

She remembers her days with Regalyan, the time they shared together. She misses it, she misses _him_. She wishes she could have that again. Someone who cares about her, someone who sees more than just the Right Hand, the Seeker, the warrior.

_Would it be possible to have that?_

And another thought, smaller and even more dangerous: _Would it be possible to have that with you?_

_Tell me._

_Please._

 

* * *

 

The sun rises over the mountains far below her, its weak golden light washing across her skin. She takes a deep breath, the smells of the slowly stirring village rising up to meet her. She wonders what will happen to them now that the threat is past. Will they try to rebuild what they’d lost? Or will they stay here in this new life that they’ve made?

She glances behind her at the figure still lying in bed. She hasn’t asked Varric what his decision will be. There are so many doors open to him, there’s no reason to believe he’d choose this one.

He’d described himself as a coward once and she’d foolishly believed him, believed that he would run and hide instead of standing and fighting for the things he cares about. She’s met all sorts of people this past year and a half and, of them all, she doesn’t think she’s met anyone braver.

The sun rises higher, peeking into their room, and when it hits Varric’s eyes, he stirs. “Seeker?”

“I am here.”

He blinks his eyes open and glances towards the window. “Is that a sunrise? Oh geez.” He quickly shuts his eyes and rolls over. “I swore I’d never see this side of one, don’t make a liar out of me.”

She laughs. “You do a fine enough job of that by yourself,” she tells him as she slips back into bed beside him, relishing the warmth and the comfort. Perhaps it would be alright to have a lazy morning for once.

“Shh, I’m sleeping,” he says, but the words are muffled against the side of her mouth as he leans in to give her a kiss.

She lets her eyes slip closed. She knows when he decides, he’ll tell her. In the meantime, she’ll try to let go and let herself enjoy this.

_Thank you._

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in my WIPs a few days ago and I thought it was pretty good and almost complete as it was, so I just filled in a few holes and cleaned it up.


End file.
